Partners
by Pidraya
Summary: After Jenny managed to get the charges against Ducky dropped, things between her and Jethro became strained. This story deals with how they got past that. Asparagus makes a cameo appearance in this story which is the sequel to 'Fallout' .
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note:**_

Another OC makes a re-appearance in this chapter.

Jenny's friend, **Pat**.

* * *

_**Jenny's apartment, Naples**_

_**January 8th, 1999**_

_**2100 **_

Watching drops of rain splash against the window, Jen wondered how long it would be before she allowed herself to cry.

Her head ached.

Echoing with the voice of her insecurities whispering to her.

There was no reason to be alone. Pacci had called and Callen had stopped by, yet she felt completely isolated. Refusing to allow anyone near until she'd worked out the crisis in her head. Hurting herself with thoughts about what her colleagues thought of the fact that Decker had been working behind the scenes to get her a promotion.

Whether they believed what they'd overheard Jethro say.

She shivered as he crossed her mind.

She'd never realized just how damp her living room was until now, and in some obscure way it was the perfect metaphor for her relationship with Jethro.

Uncomfortable. Chilly.

Lonely.

He hadn't made any effort to contact her – and she hadn't had the heart or the guts to do it herself. She wasn't sure what it meant, for either of them, but there was an ache inside which even alcohol hadn't dulled.

At least not yet.

A sharp knock at the door made her almost jump out of her skin, and she berated herself as the hope that Jethro was on the other side flooded her system.

"Open up, Jen. I know you're in there."

She opened the door, slowly.

"Hey .."

Pat was looking back at her with amusement in her eyes.

"You know it wouldn't kill you to look happy to see me," she said as she swept past her into the kitchen. "What's going on? I thought you were coming down to the bar on the docks tonight."

"Want something to drink?"

"Hey ... deflecting only works with wannabe homo sapiens," Pat said as she opened the fridge and helped herself to a beer. "So .."

"I have a headache."

"Yeah yeah," Pat said as she pulled out a bottle opener. "And NCIS gets its real estate tips from camels. Come on, spill ..."

"There's nothing _to_ spill." Jenny watched her carefully. More than aware that she had to tread carefully. She liked Pat, but not enough to confide in her. "I'm just tired. It's been a long coupla days."

"So you looking like crap has nothing to do with that son of a bitch," Pat said as she raised herself onto the counter. "Or that_ other_ son of a bitch," she said after she'd taken a long sip.

"How much have you had to drink?" Jenny asked with a small smile.

"Coz Calhoun's about ready to fleece 'em both," Pat carried on as though she hadn't heard, "and Chuck's none too pleased with them either. Scuttlebutt is that Pacci told G-"

She stopped abruptly when the phone started ringing.

"You gonna take that or what?" she asked after three rings.

Jenny tried to cover up the tremor in her hand as she answered. Hoping against hope that it was Jethro and simultaneously terrified that it might be.

"Jen .." Disappointment rippled through her as she realized that it was Decker at the other end of the line.

"Who is it?" Pat hissed as she moved close. "Gibbs?"

"Decker," Jen mouthed silently as she covered the lower part of the phone.

"Ask him where he is," Pat called as she wandered into the bedroom.

Jen turned her attention back to the man at the other end of the line reluctantly.

"You got company?" he asked.

"Pat's here."

"Havin' a girls' night in?"

"No, she .."

"I'm sorry Jenny," he interrupted. Clearly eager to get his apology off his chest and have things go back to what passed as normal between them. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that yesterday. It's just … damn it Jen, you had Lewis eating out of your hand and he's one tough man to impress."

Jen sighed.

She really didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"No hard feelings?" Decker was saying when Pat appeared in the doorway with a dress in each hand.

"No hard feelings," she said as she shook her head vehemently at her friend.

"Wanna go out for a drink?"

"I ..um .."

She was thinking about ways to refuse when suddenly she realized that refusal would be stupid.

It was the perfect occasion to take Decker up on his offer of a drink and not have to be alone with him.

"Where are you, Will?" she asked with enthusiasm she didn't necessarily feel. "We're coming down to meet you."

It made no sense to stay home on the offchance that Jethro might call.

* * *

_**Jethro's apartment**_

Gibbs pushed the food around on his plate.

"Out with it," he mumbled after a particularly long stretch of silence.

Ducky laughed. "Isn't that _my_ line?"

"You tell me."

Ducky had shown up at his door an hour earlier, and hadn't stopped watching him through concerned eyes.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"That why you're here? To check up on me?" He tossed his head sharply. "Slept fine."

"Have you spoken to Jenny at all since she got back?"

Apparently the time for small talk was over, Gibbs thought; the bitterness in his mental voice surprising him.

"Saw her at the office."

"You exchanged three words. And it wasn't much of an exchange either, if memory serves."

"She's got a few days off," Gibbs answered as he abandoned all attempts at eating.

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

"What's your point, Duck?"

"I'm asking whether you _intend_ to speak to her, or whether you plan to wait until she comes back to work and you will have no _choice_ but to speak to her."

"Nothing to talk about."

"Nothing to talk about," Ducky mimicked as a look of disdain traversed his features. "She put her career on the line for us, Jethro."

"Yeah, heard all about _that_," Gibbs replied as he started to walk towards the sink with the dirty dishes.

"She deserved a lot better than 'good job, Shepard' and having to listen to you mouth off at Decker, and you know it."

Gibbs dropped the plates on the counter and whirled around.

"She's _green_, Duck. Needs work. Not ready for anything but field word. _Under supervision_."

"Under _your_ supervision."

"She's on_ my_ team. _My_ responsibility."

Ducky looked at him for a moment, and then picked up his hat and coat.

"Jethro ..." he began warily.

"Don't wanna hear it, Duck."

"I understand that subconsciously you want to keep her close, but don't keep her too close .. because you will lose her."

When he had gone, Gibbs pulled a bottle of bourbon out of the cupboard and helped himself to a glass as his thoughts pulled him in a hundred different directions.

He'd lied through his teeth. Hadn't slept well at all.

He'd spent the morning at the firing range; trying to dispel the anger that way.

It hadn't worked.

He'd cleaned his weapons after that.

And by the time he was done with the apartment he could have eaten dinner off floor.

Laundry, ironing, replenishing his 'go bag'.

Anything and everything to keep his mind from wandering where it shouldn't.

To the look of anticipation and subsequent hurt in Jen's eyes when he'd seen her in the office.

He wasn't ready to feel bad about what he'd done.

Or what he'd said.

She _was_ green. She _was_ impulsive, and she didn't think things through.

There was much he still needed to teach her and he'd be damned if he was going to let a few hurt feelings get in the way.

She'd have to suck it up the way all of the other agents he'd trained had.

The way _he'd_ sucked it up.

At Parris Island, at Camp Lejeune, with Mike Franks.

He needed something to occupy his mind, he thought as he refilled the glass for the third time.

A walk along the docks in the dark of night might not be safe for anyone else, but he needed the busyness of keeping watch.

To keep his thoughts from overwhelming him.

He was out the door before he could change his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Jenny's apartment, Naples**_

_**January 9th, 1999**_

_**1130**_

She was still pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol when she opened the door to Pat.

"Got anything to eat? I'm starving."

Jen took one look at the shit-eating grin on her friend's face, and stepped back to let her in.

"Pat ..."

"Yeah?" the woman drawled as she rooted around in the fridge.

"You're still wearing last night's clothes."

"Yes I am."

Jen's eyes narrowed slightly as she thought back to the night before.

Parts of it were a bit of a haze, but she clearly remembered a crowd of nubile delicacies on port of call, a few local girls eager to get laid, a juke box, the two of them, and Calhoun, Chuck, and Decker buying round after round of drinks.

"What happened last night?"

Pat looked at her in mock disgust.

"What do you mean _what happened_? You were right there on that table with me making a spectacle. Or have you forgotten?"

"That's not what I mean."

"That bastard knows I can't resist that song."

"Well it's not his fault you're _from Bir-ming-ham, way down in Alabam_," Jen teased as she started to percolate coffee. "So?"

Pat threw her head back and laughed. Knocking her knees together as she sang.

"_She's so rock steady, and she's always ready_."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"I just did," Pat said as she unwrapped a piece of cheese.

"_Why are you wearing last night's clothes?_"

"Didn't we just cover that?"

"No."

Pat huffed as she put her knife down, but her smile was wide. "Let's just say there can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. "Or, in this case, before dawn."

"_You went home with Chuck?_!" Jenny asked in disbelief.

Pat smiled and buffed her nails against the lapel of her jacket.

"Hell no."

"But you went home with _someone_ …" Jen pushed.

"Oh yeah."

"Who?"

Pat smiled mischievously before taking a large bite.

"What have you done?" Jen asked, as her mind contemplated the possibilities.

"_**Wake up, stud," she purred lazily.**_

_**Decker's eyes cracked open.**_

"_**Pat?" he croaked as he pulled himself up.**_

"_**Yeah, baby," she replied as she pressed a kiss to her index finger and then placed it to his lips.**_

"_**Christ!" Decker's head hit the pillow again. He opened his eyes again a second later and propped himself up on his elbow. "Did we ..."**_

"_**Mmhmm**_. _**I may have to start calling you the man of steel." **_

_**She got up from the bed. Sashaying slightly before bending down to pick up her clothes from the floor. Watching him out of the corner of her eye.**_

"_**Pat ..." He caught up with her as she reached the door.**_

"_**Oh come on, Will. We're adults. Lets not make this awkward."**_

"_**Right, but .. we need to keep this out of the office," he mumbled.**_

"_**Oh sure. It'll be our little secret. But we should really do it again sometime," she said as she placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "See you Monday."**_

"_**Uh ..yeah."**_

_**She managed to contain her laughter until she reached bottom of the stairwell.**_

Jen's eyes widened.

"_You didn't?_"

"I didn't. But he doesn't need to know that," Pat said with a laugh. "He was so wasted last night he wouldn't have found his pecker if it'd had a name tag on it. I had to _pour him_ into bed."

"And then you stayed the night .."

"Yup." She took another bite of her sandwich.

"You smell of him."

"Splashed on some of his cologne. Had to make it credible and - _what?_"

"Nothing. I … _what the hell were you thinking?_"

Pat's face turned serious for a moment, and there was no trace of humour in her voice when she spoke.

"Someone had to put that prick in his place, Jen. He pawed you all night long. I was the last person he wanted in his bed. So let him feel awkward for a while. He thinks he's such a stud. Blech." She paused for a moment, and then started to laugh again. "He thinks he's such a prize but _I swear ... _he snores like a Harley!"

* * *

_**A dock in Naples**_

_**1430**_

He'd lost track of how many hours he'd been out here waging war against Ducky's parting shot. He'd been called many things over the years, but _myopic_ had never been one of them.

Or perhaps nobody had ever had the balls to call him that before now.

His mind rebelled against the flashes of indifference shown to the way he'd wanted to do things over the past few days, and yet inbetween the jumbled thoughts and the anger something indefinable nagged at him.

He stood motionless as he looked out across the choppy water. Closing his eyes against the salty sea spray which occasionally hit his face. Heaviness tugged at him as he watched the diehard sailors flit across the marina in their boats; happiness and the rush of adrenaline etched into their features. Motion at two o'clock caught his eye, and he felt as though he was watching from outside himself as a petite woman sailed a small boat towards the dock at relatively high speed. But just as his body screamed for him to either get out of the way or do something, she dropped the sails and manoeuvred the boat into its slip perfectly.

A man he hadn't noticed hopped aboard and secured the boat. He couldn't hear what was being said, but as the man embraced her, there was no doubt that he was expressing his pride in a job well done.

_A job well done._

The words stumbled around in his head, and as he flashed back to the approach of the sailboat at the oil terminal, his throat knotted up.

Each revelation piled on top of the one before it with the speed of a barrage of bullets from an automatic rifle.

Bringing clarity.

Opening the window on the fact that he'd let his own arrogance blindside him. That he was letting it get in the way of something good.

He hadn't given Jenny enough credit for having the sense to know her limitations, and he hadn't given her any credit at all for taking advantage of the situation which had presented itself.

The line he'd been so obsessed with having her follow had never been straight to begin with.

Swirling puffs of wind made his clothes wrap themselves around him - and suddenly all he could think of was Jenny.

Jenny with her soft hands and her warm smile.

Jenny and her hurt eyes.

He'd tossed and turned all night.

Tormented by thoughts of what it felt like to hold her. To be held by her.

He'd put himself through a series of push ups, sits ups, and the rudimentary equivalent of bench presses, come morning. Topping them off with a run down to the beach.

Pushing himself as hard as he could.

It hadn't helped.

Then, as now, all he could see were the unprompted kisses and caresses which dulled the pain residing in his soul; her body stroking his to completion; and the awakening of passion he'd forgotten he was capable of.

As he watched the couple on the boat laugh and hug, his only prospects for the afternoon his own company and the dismal confines of his apartment, the feeling he'd been unable to place rose from his subconscious in painful definition.

_He missed her_.

It was like a punch to the gut.

His anger dissolved.

Replaced instantly by a guilt which ricocheted through him.

Guilt over having failed two women co-existed with the failure to be faithful to his first love.

And to that he added the guilt over having underestimated Jenny.

He hadn't trusted her judgement and, intentional or not, he'd shamed her in front of her peers.

As he glanced at the embracing couple one last time, there was no doubt in his mind what needed to be done.

But as he stalked away to try and redress the balance, the knowledge that he had no way of knowing how she'd respond preyed on his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

_**The balcony in Jenny's apartment, Naples**_

The wind had picked up again.

It rushed through the narrow street, obliterating the sounds of traffic and all the other sounds of the world. Sweeping away the barriers she'd erected in her mind.

Jen gripped the balcony rail with one hand and relived the stark reality of the loneliness she'd felt when her father had died. For reasons which unsettled her, her brain equated that feeling with Jethro.

The pain of his absence so great that he might as well have died.

Only he _hadn't_ died.

He was alive, well, and unavailable.

The restlessness had settled somewhere beneath her diaphragm, and over the course of the afternoon had become impossible to ignore. After Pat had gone home she'd showered, shaved her legs, and briefly contemplated a nap. Ultimately she'd dismissed _that_ idea as hopeless, tried reading a book, and ended up walking a few miles in her apartment instead.

Fighting the desire to pick up the phone and make things right by whatever means necessary.

But she hadn't - and now it was late.

Saturday evening already, give or take a half hour or so, and she was due back at work soon.

Back to the grind with a man who no longer trusted her.

If he had ever trusted her at all.

Self-examination had given way to self-recrimination, and she was struggling with the fact that it was easier to internalize the hurt than feel angry. An uncomfortable realization that Jethro's words and actions had become the determinant in her emotional landscape.

As she ran her fingers brusquely along the underside of the rail, her emotional impulses were powerful and contradictory - and she had to force herself to stay with the course of her thoughts.

To admit to herself that the one thing she feared most was upon her.

She was losing her identity.

Evaluating her competence on the grounds of his perceptions.

It took her a moment to recognize that the sharp pain in her right ring finger was real, and as she jerked it away from the rail she saw that she'd snagged it on a metal shard embedded in the paint.

The sight of blood against her pale skin brought things sharply into focus.

Reminding her that she was one half of the relationship with Jethro. That she hadn't spent any time thinking about what _he_ was feeling. It was clear she'd ignored his need for doing things his way and hurt his ego. The thought made her smile a little - because he was no less susceptible to that than any other male she'd ever known.

Emboldened and somewhat amused by her decision to give a little, she made her way inside and picked up the phone.

The disappointment when there was no answer at his apartment was visceral. Her fingers hovered over the buttons as she tried to make the decision about whether to call his cell - because all she could think about was the fact that Jethro was a homebody. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she'd actually known him to go _anywhere_ on a Saturday evening.

All sorts of unpalatable scenarios ran through her head; not least the one about him warming someone else's bed and moving on.

She tried to quash the thought - but as she let the phone drop back into its cradle, she knew she wouldn't be placing the call.

Or getting any sleep.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, at the entrance the apartment complex ..**_

" Buonasera .."

Gibbs nodded at the person exiting the apartment building, and made his way up the staircase slowly.

Doubt about whether she'd let him in assaulted him again just as he raised his hand to knock on her door - but he'd come this far and wasn't about to walk away.

The first thing he took in when she opened the door was the look in her eyes.

The hurt in them seemed to have amplified since the last time he'd seen her, but it was tempered by something else.

Something which he couldn't qualify but knew was important.

A wariness which went beyond a reaction to his unsolicited arrival.

As they stared at each other over the threshold, she hated herself for seeking evidence of another woman's touch on him.

"Jen .."

His voice had an element to it she wasn't used to, but it was the earnestness in his next word which threw her off balance.

"_Please?_"

She let him in, closed the door, and turned to face him. Still unsure what to expect.

There was no anger in him – of at least _that much_ she was certain - but he was giving nothing away, either.

"Hungry?" he asked as he raised the bag he was carrying.

She almost said she wasn't, but then took one look at the name printed on the bag and knew precisely why he'd gone there. And if the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth was any indication, he was pretty damn pleased with himself too.

Something within her loosened, and almost as though he were responding to the change in the air, Jethro moved fractionally closer.

"Got some wine to go with it," he said as he pulled a bottle out of the bag.

"In that case I may have to keep you," she quipped as she led the way into her kitchen.

A few minutes later she was watching as he served dinner. Warmth seeped back into her as he tipped all of the asparagus he'd brought onto her plate, and yet she was leery about just slipping into companionable silence as though nothing had happened between them.

That would be far too easy to do.

Their eyes met tentatively over a glass of wine a few moments later, and the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Why are you here?"

Gibbs' eyebrows rose into this hairline for a fraction of a second, but he delivered his words deadpan.

"Can't a man have dinner with his partner?"

He let the words sit in the air for a moment.

Wondering how well he was disguising his wary regret. Whether she could see through him.

Her eyes widened, and then glazed over with something which looked like shock.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

He kept chewing when he put down his fork, but as his hand came up again he was looking her straight in the eye. "Planning tactics, _good_." Up came a second finger. "Improvisation, _excellent_." A third finger followed closely. "Outcome .. _superior_."

He gave a sharp nod and went back to his food – perfectly conscious of the fact that she was staring at him with her cutlery suspended in mid-air.

"Food's getting cold," he said a moment later as he reached over and pushed her chin up.

She wasn't quite sure what to do, and even less sure what to say, but she knew she had to say something.

"Jethro .."

He silenced her with a look.

Its intensity saying as much as the words themselves.

"Shoulda trusted your judgement, Jen. Won't happen again."

Emotion welled like hysteria, and the words wouldn't make it past her throat.

He was so sure he'd gotten it right that seeing her walk away reignited every insecurity he'd arrived with.

But when she spoke a few moments later, he could hear the roiling emotion in her voice.

"Thank you, Jethro."

"That a thank you for dinner or for the apology?" he murmured as he came to stand behind her.

"That was an _apology_?"

His eyes fluttered shut in relief at the teasing in her voice, and he drew in a slow deep breath before speaking again.

"Want it in writing?"

Jen shook her head as her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"You did good, Jen," he said he moved slightly closer. "Damn good."

The pulse point in her neck jumped as his breath washed over her skin – changing his awareness of her in a heartbeat.

He crowded her against the sink, his hands over hers, but as his lips hovered over the top of her head he was still uncertain. Crippled by the need to know that she wanted him the way she'd wanted him a few days earlier.

He'd just opened his mouth to say her name and gauge what she wanted, when his eyes fell on a bloodstained paper towel on the counter.

"Did you cut yourself?"

He watched her hand shake slightly as she raised it, and his mind took him back to a stormy night in a parking lot when he'd touched her for the first time.

The intensity of the memory and her proximity played off each other seamlessly, and he pulled her back into him instinctively as he sucked the injured digit into his mouth.

Her stifled moan went straight to his groin.

Jen's head fell back against his shoulder as a hand slipped under her blouse, travelled up her stomach and slid to her right breast.

His fingers grazed it slowly.

Enticing a nipple to rise effortlessly.

Her finger slipped from his mouth as he nudged her head aside. Going for the jugular with a forcefulness that almost intimidated her.

Almost – but not quite.

She turned to find a storm in his eyes.

A crescendo of violent emotion which only served to fuel her own.

Somewhere in the background she heard a crash, and it took her a moment to register that they'd knocked the wine bottle to the ground. But by then she didn't care, because Jethro was navigating door jambs and hallways.

Undressing her as he pulled her into the epicentre of his need.

He wasn't even sure how they'd made it to bed at all, but as his body pounded into hers he knew he was seeking release not just for his body, but his mind as well. He was aware enough to know that some would call this physical domination, but that need was much less pronounced than his need to give himself over to her.

And he knew she knew that.

There was no foreplay, no sweetness.

Only a frantic keeping of pace as the muscles in his lower back and loins began to tighten.

The aggressive lovemaking should have frightened her, but it didn't. Her mind was devoid of rational thought; her body conscious only of the violent rocking making them cling to one other. She felt a ripple of tiny spasms begin. A series of climactic impulses which made her move against him with abandon. As he pulled her against his chest he was so deep within her that there was no distinction between pleasure and pain.

Only the awareness of mounting intensity which was beyond her control.

The initial electric jolt from his testicles travelled up his spine. Bowing his back and making the synapses in his brain fire ruthlessly as he surrendered. His last coherent thought was not vocalized, but it reverberated in his soul with a savagery that robbed him of breath.

_I love you, Jen,_ his mind screamed in the hope that she would hear_._

That she would _know_.

As his body emptied into hers, his brain no longer registered what his eyes could see. There was no sense of taste, no sense of smell.

Just a solid mantle of urgency which consumed his entire being until he collapsed, completely spent.

Awareness returned slowly, and with it came the realization that his body was pressing hers into the mattress. But as he raised his chest from hers and began to slide to his left onto his side, she reached for him.

Holding him like a second skin until they'd both stopped trembling.


End file.
